


Right Through My Walls

by cumberhardhiddlesbitch



Series: The Rhombus 'Verse [17]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Meet the Family, Meeting the Parents, Past Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-16 10:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21506104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberhardhiddlesbitch/pseuds/cumberhardhiddlesbitch
Summary: Shannon and Tom go to his parents’ home for lunch.
Relationships: Tom Hardy/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Rhombus 'Verse [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/715134
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Right Through My Walls

Tom was sitting on the edge of the bed tying his shoe when Shannon came out of the washroom. He smiled up at her, taken by how lovely she looked. She'd dried her hair, and it looked soft, the front locks pulled back but the rest of it falling to her shoulders. He'd never seen the gray skirt she was wearing nor the simple black scoop neck top. The silver necklace was familiar, and showed nicely against her bare throat instead of buried under the layers she often wore.

"Do I look ok?" she asked as she pulled on a pair of flats.

"You look beautiful." He stood up, intending to kiss her, but she dodged backwards, away from him, turning around. There was something odd about seeing her without a single bright color on, but he knew there was no way to tell her that without it alarming her.

"Do I look, I don't know, too try-hard or something?" She let her arms fall to her sides.

He suppressed his smile at her earnest question. "No. You look like you put in the effort to present yourself nicely, which my mother will appreciate, and then not think on again. I hope she does the same for me."

Shannon ran her hands up his forearms when he reached out to her, then let him pull her into a gentle hug. "You know you look terrific in gray." She stiffened. "Will it look like I'm trying to match our outfits?"

"No." He kissed her temple. "Even if we were a perfect match I doubt it would register. Are you ready to go?"

“I am.” She walked out without gathering anything but her coat, and Tom followed, picking up her purse and makeup bag as he went.

In the car she was silent during the short trip.

“There’s usually parking not too far from here,” he said as he began looking up and down the side streets. “If it comes to that there’s a parking ramp nearby as well, though I could drop you at the door and then park.”

“No.” It came out so quickly it nearly sounded like a yelp. “Sorry, I mean, no thank you, I don’t mind walking.” She pressed her hand over her mouth as she finished speaking, leaned forward a bit. He could only glance at her as he was driving but she looked pale.

He found a spot not too far from the house and parked, turning the car off before he looked over at her.

“Are you alright?”

"I just feel sick. I'm sorry, I can't seem to help it." She sighed, holding her breath for a moment, her lips pressed together. It was a trick he knew well, trying to quash a rising nausea. "I never get anxious like this. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize." He turned sideways in the car, leaning towards her. She reached out to hold on to his hip, fingers sinking into the fabric of his trousers. "Was it like this in the past?"

She tightened her grip, looking away for a moment before she spoke. "The last time I dated anyone long enough to meet their parents I was in university. And it didn't bother me at all then. Possibly as we were not actually destined to be together." She paused, clearly realizing what she'd said. "Oh god," she croaked. "I'm sorry."

Tom reached out and pulled her as close as he could, considering the center console, as much to comfort her as to hide the foolish smile he knew he couldn’t stop at those words. "You're fine," he said at her ear. "You took a rather large risk to be with me didn't you? It would be foolish to even try if we didn't expect great things." He slid his hand to the back of her neck and gave her a gentle squeeze. 

"True." Some of the tremor had left her voice. 

"Now. We are going to go inside and have a nice visit with my parents, because they're lovely people and I want them to meet people who are important to me. And I love you very much. I wouldn't take you to a place where I expected you to be uncomfortable." He pulled back and looked at her carefully. 

"I'm alright," she said. "I'm loads better." She smiled at him. "I'd kiss you but I'm afraid to get lippy on you."

"Don't worry, you've basically chewed it all off," he said. 

"Oh no. I'd refresh it but I left my bag at the house."

Tom reached into the console and pulled out her makeup bag. "I saw it on the table as we were leaving." He took out her lipstick and uncapped it. "I'll do it if you like."

She held still while he applied it in four efficient moves, just touching the tips of his fingers to the edges in a couple of places. Her complete trust, even for such a simple thing, warmed him all over again.

He handed her a tissue and she lightly blotted her lips.

"Perfect," he said, taking the tissue from her and tucking it back in the bag. 

"So glad you like your handiwork, Mr. Hardy," she said. 

He smirked at her as he got out of the car, coming around to her side to let her out. 

"By the way," he said as they walked up the street to his parents' house, "my father is going to tell you to call him Chips, and you should. If my mother tells you to call her Anne, that's fine too."

She held onto his arm. "How did you know I'd need reassurance about that?"

"I've met you." 

He couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to her temple as they walked up the path to his parents’ front door. The scent of hair product on her was new, not unpleasant, but entirely different from the usual soft scent he associated with her. He found himself hoping that the next time they saw his parents they’d both feel free to be at their most comfortable.

He rang the bell and then took her arm, waiting as they heard footsteps just inside.

His mother opened the door, dressed neatly in a navy blue skirt and a cream colored blouse he suspected was her favorite as he’d seen her wear it so many times. She’d kept her jewelry conservative, too. He was quickly amused at the fact that both Shannon and his mother had blunted their usual more flamboyant style on the occasion of meeting one another. 

"Come in," she said, stepping back as she held the door open for them. "Tom, were you able to find parking nearby?"

He smiled at her reliance on such a perennial London subject. "Just across the road. Mum, this is Shannon Joliecoeur." He touched her elbow, glancing over at her. She looked pleasant and calm, so unlike just a few moments ago in the car. "Shannon, this is my mum, Anne Hardy."

Anne held out her hand to Shannon, smiling as she took it. "It's so nice to meet you," she said. "Please call me Anne."

"It's lovely to meet you as well," Shannon said. 

Anne turned to Tom. "Your father is upstairs. He told me to send you up when you got here as he has something he just needs to show you. I told him he should come down and greet our guest but you know how he gets when he's stuck into something."

"I'm sure we'll be down in a moment. I'll just show Shannon where the coats go." 

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Anne left them alone in the front hall and Shannon turned to him as soon as she was through the kitchen door.

“Am I supposed to go upstairs with you or not?” Shannon asked.

“I’ll bring my father down,” Tom said, taking her jacket to the closet just next to the front stairs. He hung it on a hanger as she stuck so close to his side that he had to watch his elbow. “He either thinks it would be easier for you to meet them one at a time, or he sincerely has something he can’t wait to show me. He’s not much for subterfuge so I’m guessing it’s the latter.” He kissed her forehead firmly, squeezing her shoulders as he turned them around. “Go join my mother in the kitchen, and I’ll see you in two minutes.”

“Alright.” She smiled up at him, but he could see the tension next to her eyes. He kissed her temple as she turned away.

Upstairs his father was in the study, his shirt untucked and collar open as he sat at his desk, looking at a pile of papers.

“You’d better smarten up before you go downstairs, or Mum will be cross,” Tom said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the door.

“Oh, it’s one of those visits, is it?” His father leaned back in the oak chair, the cracked leather seat creaking a bit. “I don’t recall having to put on a tie the first time you brought Ben over.”

“You don’t have to put on a tie now,” Tom said. “Just tuck your shirt in. Now did you actually have something you wanted me to see?”

“Why else would I tell you to come up?” His father slowly took off his glasses, setting them aside as he stared up at his son.

“Maybe you wanted to speak to me without Shannon being around?”

“Oh don’t be silly. That won’t be until after I’ve met her.”

“Maybe Mum wanted to speak to her without me around?” Tom stood up and walked over to the desk, fairly sure that there was actually something his father wanted to show him.

“That’s not her style,” Chips said, putting his glasses back on as he picked up the papers he’d been looking at. “It’s this script. It was sent over on Friday. They want me to come in and read for the part of the judge.”

Tom picked up the script and leafed through it, not sure why it would warrant a trip to the office instead of his father merely mentioning it over lunch. “I can’t possibly read it right now,” he said. “Why did you want me to see it?”

“Does it not look familiar?”

Tom turned it over in his hands, scrutinizing the cover. Other than a vaguely familiar screenwriter’s name there was nothing remarkable about it. “Not really.”

“Ah. Then you’ve not been home in some time I suppose to receive it. It was sent to you as well.”

Tom stared at the cover again, trying to remember if it had been mentioned to him at any point. “You’re sure?”

“Very sure. And it’s a good one, Tom. You should really give it a good look when you get it.” His father took it back and set it on the desk, laying his glasses atop it. 

“I will,” Tom said, smiling, the point of his father’s excitement hitting him. “We could work together.”

“We could.” He reached out and patted Tom’s arm as he stood up. “Let’s go downstairs.”

SHANNON POV:

Shannon opened the door to the kitchen, finding Anne at the sink filling a vase. 

"Did Tom tell you the colors we'd had the kitchen done in?" Anne asked as she pulled a pair of shears from the drawer. 

"No, actually. It was a lucky match." Shannon watched as she snipped the ends of the flowers at an angle and placed them in the vase. The daisies nearly matched the trim around the stove perfectly. "I've always liked that pale yellow for kitchens."

"It's classic," Anne agreed. She placed the arrangement on the slate worktop, then looked over at the table in the dining area, considering.

"I think it will be easier for people to see each other without the flowers on the table," Shannon said.

"Quite so. I just didn't want to slight you by leaving them off."

"They seem at home there." Shannon stepped out of the way as Anne swept the cuttings into her hand and turned to the bin, hidden just behind her in the low cupboard. "Do you need any help with lunch?"

"It's all ready. To tell you the truth our housekeeper made most of it. Salmon en croute, salad. I did the cut fruit." 

"Sounds delicious."

"She's very good. And I don't, strictly speaking, enjoy cooking, I'm sorry to say."

"No need to be sorry. There are times I can't stand the sight of a cutting board, myself." Shannon looked up at the sound of footsteps overhead. 

“I haven’t got the faintest idea of what Chips might have been showing Tom,” Anne mused. “In case you were wondering.”

“I thought it might just be a ruse,” Shannon said, instantly mortified that she had implied Anne’s husband might be duplicitous and then relieved when Anne smiled at her.

“He doesn’t have that sort of cunning,” she said. “Besides, there’s nothing I’d ask you that I wouldn’t ask in front of Tom anyway.”

“That’s probably good,” Shannon said.

“I’d like to think so.” Anne washed her hands quickly at the sink and dried them on the tea towel. “And Tom knows that any embarrassing story I might tell about him I’d want to tell in front of him.” She looked somber for just a moment, shaking it off with a twitch of her shoulders. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really have a lot of those sorts of tales about him. He was a sweet child, and then the trouble he had as a teenager, or the trouble he gave us, however you want to put it, I don’t really see the humor in any of that, though his father does, some. To tell you the truth I don’t even like thinking on it, because when I do I can’t believe we all survived.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, you must think that was terribly dramatic.”

“Not at all.”

“So you know some of that, then?” Anne stepped closer, not into her space, but nearly at arm’s length.

“Some he’s told me,” Shannon said. “Though not to dwell upon it. He told me quite a lot on our very first date.”

“Was he trying to scare you off, do you think?”

“No, at least, it didn’t seem like that. He certainly wasn’t trying to impress me. It was just,” she felt lost in the memory for a moment. “Information.” She heard her own swallow, loud in her ears as Anne stood silently, waiting. “And I knew a bit from his reputation, as well, or my friends did, anyway.”

“Ah yes, he’s toyed with that image from time to time. The reformed bad boy.”

Shannon shook her head before she could stop herself, not wanting to contradict his mother, but unable to let it go. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“What then?”

“More like, recovering addict.” Shannon felt the harsh consonants land, heard them bouncing back towards her ears as she waited.

Anne nodded slowly. “He is that. And much more, of course, but he is that. You can’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” Anne’s mouth barely quirked at the corners, but her eyes were warmer, something tense in the room broken by that tiny change.

Shannon released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, the air coming out of her almost in a laugh. “Do you have this conversation with all the women Tom brings home?”

“No.” Her smile broadened. “I never have.”

Shannon found herself trying to inhale before her lungs were ready, choking for a split second on her own breath. She laughed as she got a hold of herself. “Have you had this conversation with Ben?”

“You know, I haven’t seen Ben since things were clarified between him and Tom. I’m holding both of them responsible for that mess, but don’t worry. I won’t go easy on him.”

“Perhaps you should, for all that. I’ve given him enough trouble of late.” Shannon found that there was something about Ann that made her want to disclose all her latest quirks and troubles.

“Have you really?” Ann tilted her head. “That doesn’t sound like the Shannon I’ve heard of.” She was smiling, but there was something teasing behind it as well.

“If Tom’s told you the whole story, then I’m afraid it is.”

“It’s not easy, is it?”

Shannon shook her head. “It’s not relating to Ben as one of Tom’s partners that’s difficult, it’s Ben, himself, and me, myself.”

“So you think if you’d met him under other circumstances things would have been the same between you two?”

“If we’d had to keep any kind of close proximity I could see it being like that, yes. If we were working on the same project, say.”

“Which, in a way, you are.”

Shannon raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think Tom would take too kindly to being referred to as a project.”

“I don’t mean Tom, I mean this entire experiment you three have going.”

Shannon bristled for a moment at hearing it called an experiment, but calmed herself thinking that really, that was what it was, broadly speaking, just as any new relationship might be. “If I think of it along those lines, I might actually be more kindly disposed to him.”

“The first time I met him, I thought he was a bit priggish, to be honest, but I came to find him to be a most generous and warm person. He just gets off on the wrong foot more often than not, I think. As flaws go, it’s hardly fatal.”

“I will try to meet him with fresh eyes the next time our paths cross,” Shannon said.

“A fine idea,” Ann said, glancing towards the kitchen door. Shannon could just make out the sound of Tom’s voice as he and his father approached, and felt nervous all over again at the thought of meeting him. 

Her nervous smile turned genuine when the door opened though, the resemblance between Tom and his father making her feel like she already knew him. 

“You must be Shannon,” he said, holding out his hand. “Chips.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Shannon said.

“Please call me Chips,” he said. 

“How did you come by that name?” she asked.

“It’s terribly dull I’m afraid. My father was named Edward as Tom and I both are, and so was his father and he’d been called Chip in his childhood, and passed that on to me. I’m not sure why I wound up being Chips but it stuck. It was more memorable than Edward too so when I started working I decided to keep it.”

Shannon glanced at Tom who was still standing behind his father. 

“Sorry, did you say that Tom’s name is actually Edward?”

“Bit of tradition in this family, to be known by your middle name,” Ann said. “My given first name is Elizabeth.”

“Did I never mention that?” Tom asked, walking round to stand next to her. 

“I don’t think you did,” Shannon said. “Though I’m more surprised that Edward didn’t mention it at any point.”

Tom chuckled, slipping his arm around her waist. “True.” He looked to his mother. “Should we go into the lounge?” 

“Lunch is ready, why don’t we all sit down?”

They moved over to the table and Shannon smiled to herself as Tom pulled out a chair for her, grateful that he’d saved her the awkwardness of asking where she was to sit. 

Throughout the lunch Shannon found herself relaxing, beginning to speak to Ann and Chips as if they were old friends catching up. Tom gently goaded Chips into speaking about his own part in writing several television serials she’d enjoyed, and while he referred to himself as a jobbing writer and actor she could tell he was pleased that she knew his work, as any artist might be. 

“Mum’s had a hand in a few things on tele lately as well,” Tom said.

“Oh Tom, I have not,” Ann said, exasperated but kind. 

“You have too.” He turned to Shannon. “Whenever there’s art in a scene in television or film it can’t be like a print or anything that’s got a copyright on it. A show Chips was working on got stuck needing a proper wall full, so Mum raided her studio and set them up.”

“How nice of you,” Shannon said. “I have heard that’s a problem, but I’ve never had the pleasure of being called on to help.”

“It was fun. I don’t exhibit in galleries much anymore so I’d gotten used to seeing them one at a time. I mostly do commissions now, so I don’t really think of how they’d all look displayed as a group. These of course were paintings I’d kept over the years for myself or that simply hadn’t sold, so it was also a bit of a nostalgia trip for me.”

“Maybe I’ll have a chance to do something similar some time,” Shannon said.

“If the piece Tom showed me of yours is anything to go by, I’m sure it would be stunning.”

Shannon felt her face heating, realizing that Ann and Chips had, of course, heard that Tom had met her not in small part due to him buying her largest painting yet.

“I do like to work on a large scale,” she said.

“It’s not just that,” Ann said. Chips was nodding as she spoke. “I saw it and I immediately wanted to see more. If you don’t already, you’re going to be garnering not only admirers but fans.”

“Well. That will really be something.” Shannon glanced at Tom as he reached over and squeezed her knee. 

“It will,” Ann said, unperturbed by the meaningful look Tom gave her. “Luckily you’ll have Tom to help you manage that strange situation, should it come to need managing.”

“Ben too,” Chips said. 

Shannon controlled the jerk of her head backwards at his name, hoping that it looked only like a small twitch. 

“You know, that’s true,” she said mildly. “We don’t often happen to spend time together but I’m sure he’d be well versed in that as well.”

“We’re really very fond of Ben,” Chips said as he reached for the sparkling water in the middle of the table. “Suppose we’d have to eat in the dining room if all three of you came over at once.”

“Always thinking ahead,” Ann said, patting his arm. Clearly it was a sign between them to change the subject. 

“Is your studio nearby?” Shannon asked Ann, the silence after Chips had stopped speaking just a little too long.

“It’s in the house, actually,” Ann said. “Would you like to see it?”

“I’d love to.” 

Ann stood up and kissed her husband’s cheek. “Will you put the kettle on in a bit? We won’t be long.” 

“Alright dear.” 

Shannon followed Ann through the kitchen to the entryway and up the stairs. “It actually used to be Tom’s room, part of it,” Ann said. “When he was living here I used the guest room and the dining room, depending on the size of what I was working on. You might have guessed, but we don’t do a lot of formal entertaining.” 

“I’ve never been too taken by that,” Shannon said as she followed her to the end of the hall. “More important that everyone is comfortable.”

“I agree.” Ann opened the door and stepped into the long room. The longest wall was lined with windows, and part of the sloping roof had been dormered to allow for even more natural light. There was a long trestle table along the back wall and a drafting desk tucked into one nook by the dormer. The other space was occupied by an overstuffed armchair and ottoman. A sink at one end was flanked by tall wardrobes, both liberally dotted with painted fingerprints, especially near the handles. There was a painting in progress on the table, and a large piece of cotton rag paper clipped to the drafting table, delicate ink lines only just outlining a botanical motif. Shannon wasn’t sure what to look at first, or if she was really being invited to look at the work as well as the room, but her first steps took her as if by instinct to the armchair 

“I can’t deny I’ve taken the odd nap up here,” Ann said.

“I have a sofa in my studio for the same reason,” Shannon said. “Sometimes it’s just what I need for inspiration to strike.” She turned away from the chair, the desire to try it out almost too strong to resist. “Sometimes it’s just what I need, period.” She turned towards the drafting table. “Do you like working with ink?” she asked.

“I’m just trying it out, to be honest,” Ann said. “I love the look of old botanical illustrations and I was just making something for my own kitchen, actually.”

“I’ve always liked those too,” Shannon said. “Anatomy plates too, though it’s considered a bit macabre to decorate with those.” 

“Speaking of macabre, come have a look at this,” Ann said, standing by the table. 

Shannon stood next to her looking down at the oil painting that was in progress-- very nearly done, by the look of it. A still life with a black table, white wall behind it, and a pewter pitcher in which there was a handful of thistles arranged as a bouquet. On the table itself were five thistles, their colors reflected in the lacquered surface of the table. The scene was lit as if from a window just behind the viewer, a cool bright quality to it that reminded Shannon of a winter mid morning.

“It’s a commission,” Ann said. “She asked for these specific elements. The lacquered table, the pitcher, and the thistles, just so. I asked her why and she told me that the five thistles on the table were for her siblings and friends who had died.”

“It’s like a memento mori,” Shannon said. “It’s less macabre than a skull on a table, that’s for sure.”

“Even so, I felt the heaviness while I was working on it. I tried to make the light a little brighter.”

“It allows the lacquer to pick up the reflections, too,” Shannon said. “I think she’ll be very pleased with it.”

“I hope so. That’s the thing about commissions. I don’t always love the subject, but I have to give it my best, and if I can’t do that I shouldn’t be taking commissions at all.”

“Well, not that particular one anyway,” Shannon said. “Though I fear missing out if I turn people down, myself. I haven’t been offered many commissions, but I can imagine.”

“That’s just it.”

Shannon looked around the pleasant space and smiled. “It’s so comfortable here. I feel like I could spend hours up here.”

“It took me a while to get it just so, but now I do just that. Chips and I are practically in danger of becoming housebound at times, as we both have our work spaces here. I can’t complain though. We do like being home.”

“Tom does too, which is funny considering how often he has to travel for work.”

“Does that suit you?” Ann asked.

“It does. I like to get out of the house for exercise or to visit people but I don’t go out just for the sake of going out. When I have down time, I do like to be home.”

“It might be quite the thing, when you start to be recognized as the young woman who is out and about with Tom,” she said.

“I didn’t think he was so well recognized,” Shannon said. “We’ve never been approached.”

“Not now but I think that’s going to shift for him soon.”

Shannon held still, letting that idea sit between them. “I’m sure we will deal with that when it comes,” she said. 

“I know you will. And frankly I’m happy that you don’t seem to relish the idea of it. I’d be worried for Tom if you did.”

“Fair enough.” 

“I hope that doesn’t sound insulting.”

“What kind of person would I be if I was looking forward to using Tom’s fame to advance my own interests? Not the kind of person you’d want in his life. You’re his mum, it’s only natural you’d be concerned.”

Ann stepped out into the hall and Shannon followed her. 

“Your own mum, is she concerned?” Ann asked as they walked down the stairs. 

Shannon was behind her and found it easy to lie to the back of her head. “She said she’d enjoyed seeing Tom in Wuthering Heights. I don’t think she gave it a second thought beyond that.” Shannon met her eye at the bottom of the stairs, not letting her gaze waver. 

“Well, good, we wouldn’t want her to fret.”

“Of course not.” 

As Shannon and Ann joined Chips and Tom for tea in the lounge the subject of her mother was forgotten and the rest of the afternoon was pleasant, Tom bringing their coats as Ann cleared away their tea cups, the visit at a natural, comfortable end. Chips hugged his son as they parted and offered her a warm handshake, but Ann hugged her, pulling her close for a moment, giving her upper arm a squeeze as she stepped back. 

“I hope we see you again soon,” Ann said.

“I hope so too. Thank you so much for lunch.”

“Any time.” Ann showed them to the door, and Tom took her arm as they walked back to the car.

They didn’t speak until they were well clear of the street. 

“Well?” Tom asked.

“It was a very nice visit. Your parents are nice people and they seemed to like me. I don’t think I said anything too awkward.”

Tom rubbed her knee. “You were your fantastic self. That’s all they would have wanted.”

“Well, I genuinely had a good time. I like them.”

Tom pressed his lips together as he smiled, trying not to let on that he was pleased, but she saw it easily enough. 

“I lied to your mother, though,” Shannon said.

“Oh? What about?”

“I told her that my mother wasn’t concerned about us dating.”

Tom laughed. “She either believed you or she saw right through it but understands why you’d say it. That’s fine. Plenty of time to either bring your mum around or break the truth to mine.”

Shannon’s heart beat suddenly faster at the thought that there might be an occasion for their parents to meet each other, that Tom might allude to it. She took a deep breath, calming herself as she looked out the window. 

“They really want Ben and I to get on, don’t they?”

“I really want you and Ben to get on,” Tom said. “All in good time.”

“Is that what you told them?”

“It’s what I told them, and myself, and you, and Ben,” he said, glancing at her for the briefest of moments.

‘I’ll do my level best.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

“Not this evening though, ok?” Shannon asked. 

“No, not this evening.” Tom chuckled. “I think that would be a bit much. What do you want to do this evening?”

“Change into my jeans, take Max for a walk, read for a while, then we’ll have to figure something out for dinner.”

“Right, when you say you’re going to read for a while, do you mean you’re going to take a nap?”

“Quite probably.”

“Sounds good.” He let his hand rest on her knee as he drove. She let the pleasant anticipation of their evening together warm her as they finished their journey in comfortable silence.


End file.
